


to pummel the pain

by saveourtiredhearts



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky barnes is mentioned but doesn't appear, Canonical Character Death, Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Panic Attack, SHIELD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, but pretty obvious, punching bag, punching things for unhealthy reasons, same with the Howling Commandos, the relationship is implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:50:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5443907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saveourtiredhearts/pseuds/saveourtiredhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's got friends. At least, he has SHIELD, and he has the agents there, and he has the small talk and the cafeteria and the--and the--</p>
            </blockquote>





	to pummel the pain

Steve's got friends. At least, he has SHIELD, and he has the agents there, and he has the small talk and the cafeteria and the--and the--

He has  _the Internet is so helpful_ and  _we used to boil everything_ and--

He has his shield. In his mind, it's the second best thing he has in the future--no, the present--that he had in his time (in the right time).

The first best, of course, are his dog tags. Not all his, not really, thanks to the piece of metal that reads _James Buchanan Barnes,_ like it's spelling out Steve's well-kept secret for all the world to see.

It's a good thing that at least society's blind ignorance to the obvious hasn't changed.

Fury tells him he has the Avengers, though not in those words, of course. But he doesn't, not really. No. What Steve has is six people scattered across the globe, with tremulous and frayed pieces of multi-colored string attaching each to the other. Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor Odinson, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, and himself.

He always starts with Stark when called upon to recite the line up.

Steve knows why. He wouldn't ever tell Sta--Tony, not with the way he reacted on the Helicarrier. It's not Steve's fault if he thinks of Howard instead, is it? It's not his fault if he sees Howard in every hair on Tony's head, it's not his fault if the Avengers are his Howling Commandos all over again, (except they're  _not),_  and it's not his fault that he keeps turning over his left shoulder to talk to Bucky--

It's his fault he's not in touch with any of the other Avengers.

He goes to SHIELD and punches things. He leaves SHIELD and punches things out in the field and he goes home and he eats, reads, sleeps, or stares mindlessly at the ceiling, the wall, the floors, trying to ignore the way his breath catches in his throat as tears drip down his face and it's _b_ _reathe punk, c'mon_ again and again and--

It's not his fault he doesn't sleep much. (He'd never in a thousand years blame the bad nights on anyone else though.)

He sees Peggy and it hurts like a goddamn firecracker exploding from his stomach out through his chest. It also feels like someone poured balm all over the burns when she recognizes him,  _remembers_ him.

Then she remembers him again. And again. And--

He keeps going.

He destroys punching bags so often in the depths of the SHIELD dungeons that Howa-- _Jesus Christ Steve, get it together, it's Tony, it's Tony Stark, he's--_ Stark calls him up to ask about it. _  
_

"Stark," Steve answers after the cell phone has rung once. He's flustered and confused by all this technology, but he can't say it's not amazing.

"Burning the midnight oil, much?" asks Stark dryly. Steve turns to check the clock hanging over the door of the gym. It reads 12:43. Steve squints, not sure when it got this late, not sure when he got in, not sure what exactly he did after the mission ended except for brief flashes of blood going down the drain of his bathroom sink, he's not sure--

Stark's talking. "--I really think I could do a much better job on those bags, definitely better than SHIELD, but Cap, this all hinges on whether you're coming to the tower--" Stark scoffs. "Of course you're coming, I've got a floor all set up for you and everything--"

Steve frowns. "A floor?" he asks.

"I mean, Bruce is already here and the Murder Team--" Barton and Romanoff, presumably. "--drop by time from time, and who knows when Mr. Thunderbolt will _literally_ drop by, so yeah." There's a pause. "You've all got floors."

Steve is beginning to think that Tony was very lonely, for a very long time.

Even so, he's not sure he wants to give up his privacy, his apartment where the bed is too big, and the furnishings all wrong, because even if it's wrong, it's his, away from the power of SHIELD, away from--

Away from something.

"The punching bag experiment, yes. Floor, we'll see," says Steve firmly. "Thanks, Stark."

There's a pause on the other line. Steve has only a minute to panic about whether he said something wrong--"Anytime," says Stark. There's a distinct click.

The cell phone is slightly warm, and the metal caresses his skin. Steve puts it back in the pocket of his pants, and heaves another punch. The bag goes flying, sand exploding out of it. 

It's the fourth one this night. The sweat is cold on his skin, and barely there at all.

 

 

He walks into the awful looking Tower through a side entrance that Stark promised him wouldn't be mobbed by reporters. He gets into the elevator, after being scared out of his socks by Jarvis, only to find Romanov. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and she's in a black combat outfit, black boots, and red lipstick. His eyes go immediately to her lips ( _Peggy_ his mind thinks, if only for an instant), and he blushes when she quirks an eyebrow at him.

"Romanov," he greets stiffly, because when has he ever known how to talk to girls. ( _Bucky would've known. Bucky knew. Bucky--)_

"Rogers," says Romanov.

There's silence.

"To Sir's workshop, Captain?" Jarvis inquires politely. Steve manages not to jump this time, but he stares at the ceiling to answer, even though Jarvis has already patiently explained that he's not, in fact, in the ceiling. Well. Not just in the ceiling.

"Yes please, Jarvis. Thank you."

Then, after a small pause; "How have you been?" inquires Steve uncomfortably, because he was raised to be polite.

"I've been fine," says Romanov. He can't read her at all. "You?"

Is that the first time someone's asked? Steve thinks so. Nonetheless--"Good. Fine."

"You've been running missions for SHIELD," she says.

Steve doesn't know what the hell is going on here. He worked with Romanov in the battle of New York, they shared a couple jokes and the camaraderie of soldiers--shouldn't this be easier? "Yeah. Working with a strike team," he offers. "Pretty basic stuff, really."

"They any good?" Romanov works for SHIELD, plus she's a spy. Shouldn't she already know all this?

Steve lifts one shoulder, drops it, and in a sudden fit of anger, frustration, loneliness, grief, annoyance,  _whatever,_ he spits out "Well they're not the Howling Commandos, that's for damn sure."

Romanov, to her credit, doesn't show even a flicker of emotion. She remains leaning against the wall of the elevator, her arms still crossed.

"Neither are we," she says.

Steve doesn't have time to inquire whether she's a mind reader, because the elevator door is opening, and he immediately winces at the pounding music. There's a glass wall with a door in front of them, and he can see Stark's head ( _and for a minute it's Howard's head)_ popping out over some machines.

It's obvious the wall is meant to prevent sound from escaping. Unluckily for Steve, it doesn't quite work. The noise gets even worse when Romanov opens the door with a code, and the music hits him like a tsunami. He slams his hands over his ears.

"Stark!" he shouts. Almost immediately, the room goes quiet. Steve carefully removes his hands from his head.

"Huh," says Stark speculatively, now standing. There's oil smeared all over him, accented with grease and a couple of small bruises. "They weren't kidding about the enhanced senses, were they?"

"No," says Steve. "They weren't." He shrugs. "Better than being deaf in one ear, I suppose."  _And better than always being on the brink of death. (_ _Or maybe that wasn't too bad.)_

Stark shrugs, and his cocky grin comes back full force. "Well, Black Sabbath is worth bursting eardrum or two. You ever heard of it, Cap?"

Steve frowns, confused. Black Sabbath? Is that-- "I firmly support all kinds of Jews," he says stiffly, not knowing what else to say.  _Bucky was one, and he wouldn't have have it any other way._

Stark just laughs. "You're a funny guy, Rogers," he says delightedly. Steve doesn't get it.

"Did you make the punching bags, Stark?" he asks, eager to get this back on track. He glances at Romanoff, who doesn't appear to be planning to leave any time soon. She's staring at the two of them, Stark in his jeans and t-shirt, Steve in his khakis and plaid. It's unnerving, sometimes, that he can't tell what she's thinking.

"Oh yeah! Oh Cap, you're going to be absolutely stunned," Stark says. He begins to weave his way through the junk on the floor, waving his hands excitedly and talking at a velocity of 100 miles per hour at the minimum. Steve carefully follows him, amused at the constant chatter. He freely admits, at least to himself, that he only understands one word out of three (not even counting the constant pop-culture references) but the wry grin Romanoff gives him is enough to alleviate some of that awkwardness.

Stark leads them to a back corner, where, amazingly, there seems to be clear space. Above the clearing hangs a red punching bag. Steve manages a smile when he sees it.

"I swear, you're gonna love it. Everything's reinforced, you'll never be able to break one of these babies." God, Steve hopes so. "C'mon, give it a try." Stark's practically bouncing on his heels.

"Alright, alright," laughs Steve. Some of the tension he's been holding melts a bit as he's drawn into Tony's excitement. "Hold up." He unbuttons his collared shirt and ignores Stark's wolf-whistle as he pulls it off to reveal a white undershirt. He steps up to the bag, settles into his starting position.

"Aren't you going to tape your hands?" Romanoff's clear voice rings out.

"Huh?" Steve says, straightening up to look at her.

She tilts her head, staring at him. "You don't you tape your hands before you start punching away."

Steve looks down at the body part in question. His hands are pale and soft, devoid of calluses. "I don't usually." He shrugs. "Doesn't end up mattering. I heal quickly."

"Testing punching bags now, let's go," interrupts Stark. 'You two can discuss proper boxing techniques later, Rocky and Bullwinkle."

As usual, Steve has no idea what Stark's talking about. He settles back into position though, takes a deep breath, then swings. 

The first punch hits the bag right in the center. There's barely any give, and Steve grins. Already, it looks like Stark's done a good job.

"He likes it!" he can hear Stark crow in the background. But now Steve's settling into that mindset, landing punch after punch, hitting and hitting and hitting again. All he can hear now is the sound of wind whistling as he throws his fists through the air, and he's hitting the world now, hitting the snow, the ice, solid immovable forces that have taken things away from him, and the wind's still whistling, (or is that the sound of the train?) and he just keeps punching so he can sink down into that place where everything is pouring out of him through his knuckles, so he can't feel the pain of anything anymore and it's just like when--

Someone taps his shoulder. Steve swings around, and catches them by the throat, hoisting them up and slamming them against the nearest wall. He blinks and it's Romanov, staring at him inscrutably even as his fingers are tight around her neck and he drops her, stuttering out an apology--

"Breathe Steve, c'mon," comes Ho--Tony's voice and Steve's gasping for breath.  _Breath, punk, c'mon, you can't die on me, not now, no, please--_

He breathes. In. Out. His eyes focus, and his on his knees, staring at the gray floor, with a soothing hand rubbing between his shoulder blades. It's gotta be Romanov, (though Steve never would've suspected she'd comfort him like that) because Stark's standing in front of him, looking at him worriedly.

"Jesus, Steve," he says. "You always get like that?"

"Like what?" asks Steve weakly, already knowing the answer.

"Stuck in your head," says Stark. His fingers twitch, like he's going for something--a piece of technology, a glass, a flask. "Can't get out. Drowning in your own memories. You know." He offers up a bitter smile.

Steve hasn't read the other Avengers' files. Doesn't intend to. Whatever they told him, whatever they tell him, is what he needs to know. Nonetheless, it's hard to avoid news of Tony's experience in Afghanistan, even months after the fact.

'You've been punching that bag for over an hour, Steve," Romanoff says calmly from behind him. She doesn't stop rubbing his back and for that, Steve is oddly grateful.

 "The Red Rider here even left and came back, and you didn't notice," Stark says.

"Yeah," says Steve. "I get--I get stuck in my head."

"No kidding," snorts Stark, but he doesn't say much else.

The three of them continue to stand (or kneel, in Steve's case) there, waiting. It's a little too much like Bucky waiting for Steve to recover from an asthma attack, so as soon as he can, Steve stands as well.

"The bag's really sturdy," offers Steve, unable to think of anything else to say. He doesn't want to talk about it. "You did a great job, Stark."

"Tony," says Stark. "The name's Tony."

Steve knows he should say 'I know". And he does know, he does know, it's just--

"You can't live in the past, Steve," Romanov says gently.

She's not going to apologize for something she can't help, but Steve wishes anyone, someone would, if only just for the fact he didn't fucking die after that plane crash--

And then he's talking.

"I went down in that plane expecting it to be the end," he says. He doesn't know why he's telling them this, but he doesn't have the Howling Commandos, he doesn't have Bucky, and he just can't-- "I willingly signed off on my death. I said okay, this is it, and I laid down and I shut my eyes because I knew that was how I was going out." The room is silent to the bone. "And the future is amazing and wonderful but it's not home, it's not--there's no--"  _There's no Bucky._ "It's so hard, all this adjustment, and everyone keeps forgetting that the war for me was three months ago, not seventy years, and sometimes it's all too **goddamn much!"** He's near the punching bag, so he swings around and slams a fist into it with the full force of those last two words.

Tony and Romanov don't respond.

"We were going to see the Grand Canyon after the war," he whispers to himself. _We'll head back to Brooklyn, and then it'll be 'round the word for us Stevie. The Grand canyon and any art museum you wanna see._ _It'll be swell._

"Did you want to die?" asks Romanov.

It's so like her to be blunt about it. Steve appreciates it, even if he doesn't know how to thank her.

"SHIELD's already tried to get a therapist on my case," Steve says instead of answering. "I'm not  _crazy,_ I'm just--" _  
_

"Suicidal," Tony finishes for him.

"No," says Steve firmly. "That was--" _Because Bucky was dead, so I was practically dead and all I could think was that the cold ice would be a fitting death for someone who had let their lover and best friend die in the snow_ "I'm not. I'm just--I'm just tired."

It doesn't make sense. He's slept for seventy years and he's overflowing with all kinds of emotions, but most of all, he's this bone aching sort of tired that he feels every moment of every day, much like the grief he carries over Bucky's death. It never seems to go away.

The other two don't say a word in response to his confession, not until--

"I know I already gave you a punching bag," says Tony. 'But I've got something else for you."

Steve blinks, then fights the urge to laugh. Tony is really a lot like his dad. Starks seem to always avoid serious talking by gift giving.

Steve's been facing the punching bag, but now he turns, and manages to smile at Tony. "Sounds good," he says quietly. As he walks past Romanov to follow Tony out of the lab, she grabs his wrist.

"You can call me Natasha, Steve," she says. He nods, smiles.

Like Steve said. Mind-reader.

He follows Tony out the lab door and into the elevator again. 

"Look, I'm really fighting the urge not to just open my tablet and dive into the machine I've been building, but you just had a minor panic attack and I know--I know how scary that can be," says Tony once they're in the elevator. Roma--Natasha didn't follow them out, and Steve wonders how much trust it took for Tony to leave Natasha in his lab. "So if there's anything--"

"Can I come stay?" Steve blurts out. He blushes, but doesn't take the words back.

Tony grins. "Happy to have you Cap. But before you stay for good--" the elevator doors slide open. "--I've got a feeling that you're gonna want to see your gift."

They're in the garage, and Steve thinks of Bucky when he sees the row of glittering cars, thinks of how much the Howling Commandos would have loved to ride these cars, to race these cars, to--

He manages to follow Tony, not to stop to run his hand over gleaming red or glittering chrome, and he can feel the tension he thought he had released through his--his  _panic attack--_ earlier build right back up again.

But that's before Steve sees the motorcycle.

It's obviously custom made, probably (definitely) built by Tony, a dark blue finish with a tiny stripe of red near the bottom. There's a single star right between the handlebars, but it's so small Steve only notices when he swings a leg over the seat.

"God, Tony, it's gorgeous," he breathes.

"You like?" Tony smirks. Steve listens avidly while Tony discusses how he bought an old motorcycle and then renovated it.

"And best of all," finishes Tony. "You can clip your shield right in front of the handlebars."

"Thank you," Steve says. He doesn't know what else to say.

_Bucky would've loved this._

Bucky's gone.

Bucky's gone for good.

_Better get use to it, punk. You're being really stupid, ya know._

"I'm gonna take a road trip," says Steve. He doesn't think about it until the words are out of his mouth, but all of a sudden, it's what he wants to do. "I'm gonna see the sights I didn't see on my USO tour." Yeah, that sounds about right. "All the way to California and back." He looks at Tony, suddenly worried that he thinks-- "I will come back."

One side of Tony's mouth lifts up. 'We know you will, Cap. We're not worried."

"Call me if anything comes up," Steve orders. "Anything at all."

"You got it." All of a sudden, Natasha's there.

"Natasha, you'll tell SHIELD--"

"That you're taking a well deserved leave of absence? Yes, Steve," she says and Steve's pleasantly surprised to see her grinning. " _Go,_ Steve. You need a break."

Steve just smiles even wider, and guns the motor. His eyes widen at the silky purr, and he laughs in delight as the garage door begins to open.

"Thanks Tony, Natasha," he says, and he gives them a little wave before speeding out into the streets of New York.

He'll stop by his apartment to pick up his shield. He's got his wallet, his cell phone, his dog tags, his motorcycle. And then--

Steve's got friends. He has Tony, and Natasha, and the rest of the Avengers when they meet up again. (And they will, there can be no doubt of that.) He has a home to return to, he has a team at his back.

 _They're not the Howling Commandos,_ he thinks to himself.

He suspects, perhaps, that this is a good thing.

**Author's Note:**

> So this went in a completely different direction then I had planned, but I'm kind of happy with the result. I hope you are too--the original was way more depressing than this one.
> 
> Constructive criticism is, of course, always welcome. I'd love to flesh out Tony a bit more, but I'm terrible at science, so if anyone wants to write something when he talks about the motorcycle or the punching bag, I'd be happy to incorporate it!
> 
> Come say hi to me on [tumblr!](http://yourblueeyedboys.tumblr.com/)


End file.
